


Messages

by iwillpaintasongforlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 2013, M/M, Oneshot, Sad, Sad Harry, Sad Louis, closeting, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, management
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/iwillpaintasongforlou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry sometimes forgets that he isn't supposed to touch Louis in interviews, isn't supposed to love him. One slip-up in an interview and the sudden reminder is too much to bear. </p><p>(In other words, the one in which Harry forgets who he’s supposed to be and Louis has to remind him who he is.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messages

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr, iwillpaintasongforlou. I'll be posting some other stuff from there on here, too! Just a fair warning.
> 
> Dedicated to my darling pally pal, Jordan <3

For a split second, Harry forgets who he is, and who Louis is, and who they are supposed to be. He’s laughing at something the interviewer says, a little bit, and mostly listening to the bottled sunshine that is his love’s laugh. And then he’s reaching around an arm to go behind Louis because his laugh dislodged a tuft of hair near his collar and he knows it will make Louis smile if he fixes it for him-

But there are too many eyes in the room, and too many countless of millions of eyes beyond that, all of which are watching and waiting for this. So then Harry’s changing directions, planting a fist in the back of the couch between them instead of laying a caress on the nape of his neck. He’s trying to make it look casual, like he  _wanted_  to lean awkwardly against his wrist. Like he would never  _dream_  of putting his arms around another boy just because.

It doesn’t work, of course.

Louis glances over at him, eyes blank, not daring to show any kind of sympathy or acknowledgement. But Harry has known every shade of Louis there is, and the only time that Louis’ eyes are dead is when he’s trying desperately not to feel anything. There’s a message in that blankness that only Harry could read, probably- there’s an  _I’m sorry_  and an  _I understand_  and a  _we’ll get through this._

And suddenly Harry can’t look at him anymore, he can’t  _breathe_  anymore, because he’s upset at himself and all he wants to do is collapse forward and wrap his arms around Louis and hide his face in the soft cotton of his shirt and breathe in the scent of Louis’ tea from where he spilled it on himself this morning. But he can’t do that, any more than he can touch the soft hair behind Louis’ ear.

“Excuse me,” he says abruptly, standing and picking his way over bandmates and past media teams on his way to the door. Someone from management catches his elbow on the way out and looks at him with half irritation, half concern. “Gonna barf,” Harry mumbles, guaranteeing that everyone will get out of his way and let him escape to the bathroom without too much fuss.

Later, when he goes back and watches the video from the interview, he notices that three faces are full of concern and confusion, but Louis’ is still blank. It’s the same message on repeat.  _I’m sorry. I understand. We’ll get through this._

But in the meantime, he hides in the handicap stall of the men’s room, sending away the various team members who come in and ask him if he’s alright, building up walls with muttered requests of ‘just a minute, I’ll be right out, sorry.’ It isn’t until he hears someone shuffle in and lock the bathroom door behind them with a quiet, “Harry?” that he actually unlocks the stall door.

It’s Louis- of course it’s Louis. His gaze is still blank for a second, until Harry’s red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks come into focus and it all melts into a mix of guilt and sadness. “Y’alright, babe?”

Harry winces. “Stupid question.”

“Well. Yeah. Did you actually-?”

“Throw up?” Louis nods hesitantly. “No. I mean- I felt like it. For a second. But no.”

“That’s good. Are you- are you  _going_  to be okay?”

That one doesn’t even get an answer, because Harry is far too busy examining the floor tiles and sniffling suspiciously to formulate a response. So Louis just steps into the stall and wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders, even though Harry’s too tall and too broad for that so Louis really just winds up pinning his arms down. Harry still doesn’t say anything for a minute, continuing to sniffle and bite a lip that he tells himself is definitely  _not_ quivering.

Finally, though, he relents, breaking his arms free so that he can hold Louis’ head to his chest and Louis can squeeze him round the middle. His breath moves the soft fluff of Louis’ hair when he speaks. “I’m just so tired.”

“It’s been a long day. Long week.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“I always forget. That I can’t be normal with you, and then I remember and it’s like, my heart still breaks every time I think about it.”

“Even after all this time?”

“Yeah. More now than before, even. I think.”

Louis cranes his neck back so he can examine Harry without putting any distance between their chests. “Why?”

“Fuck, Lou, because I want to touch you and I’m not allowed to-”

“No, not that,” Louis hurries to interject. He presses an apology of kisses to Harry’s collarbone.  _I’m sorry. I understand. We’ll get through this._  “I meant why is it worse?”

There are long seconds that pass where all either can hear is shaky breaths and silence. Finally Harry answers, “Because I always imagined things would be different by now. I thought something would change and- I don’t know. I’m being stupid.”

“Not stupid. Never stupid.”

“It’s just every time I remember it now, it’s not just remembering I can’t touch you, it’s remembering that there have been three whole years where I couldn’t touch you. Every day it gets harder because of that. And because what if three years becomes four? Or ten? Or twenty? Or forever?”

He can’t see it from this angle, but Louis’ eyes are sad as he blinks into the collar of Harry’s shirt. “That won’t happen. I won’t let it happen.”

“You can’t do that much to stop it.”

“We’ll throw a fit when we go to sign new contracts. Refuse to sign anything that doesn’t say in giant, bold print, “LOUIS AND HARRY ARE IN LOVE AND THEY GET TO TOUCH IN PUBLIC.”

He’s kidding, but Harry giggles a little anyway. “Think the others will agree to signing something that specifically mentions the fact that we’re boyfriends?”

“Fuck yeah. Niall would bring pints to the signing. Zayn would doodle our faces kissing in the margin.”

“Liam would tweet something illegible about it.”

“Probably,” Louis agrees with a smile of his own. “Seriously though,” he continues, quieter. “It’ll be okay, I promise. I know it’s shit now, but- it won’t be forever, love.”

It’s a little bit funny to Harry that the boy so tiny he fits under Harry’s chin and practically disappears in the wrap of his arms is standing here making him promises and trying so desperately to convince him that things will get better. It’s that same fierce, protective passion that made him fall in love with Louis in the first place, actually.

So he just kisses his hair and down the side of his face and along his jaw until Louis’ lips meet his with both tenderness and quiet strength. “Sorry I ran out. Thought I might cry if I didn’t.”

“Sorry I didn’t come after you. Would have looked too- would’ve been suspicious. Sorry.”

“I know,” Harry mumbles, because he does. He’s had three years practice in little disappointments. But he also knows none of it is Louis’ fault. “You’re perfect. You’re an angel. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Louis replies, blushing a little at the sudden praise. “Stop that. ‘Just been crying’ doesn’t look good on me and there’s a shit ton of cameras out there.”

“Do  _I_ look like I’ve been crying?”

He does. Louis hedges. “I think you could definitely get away with saying you’ve been in here losing lunch.”

“Okay. Think management will buy it?”

“I think you can sell it, sweetheart. Just look rather dull. Maybe try to have a scratchy throat. I could probably help with that if you want.”

“What?”

“Well you do tend to get all raspy when you’ve had a throatful of my-”

_“Louis.”_

“Too tempting to tease about? Sorry, love. Later, then.” He gives Harry one last, playful peck on the mouth, light enough that neither of them will have lips that are  _too_  obviously kissed. “Want to head back out there?”

“No.”

“Okay. Are you going to head back out there anyways?”

“Yeah. For you.” Always for Lou. Anything for Lou.

Niall, Zayn and Liam are loitering just outside the door, flanked by a few team members. “Everything cool?” Niall asks in a casual way that lets his brothers know that they, at least, know the truth. They, at least, are there for them every step of the way.

“Just remind Harold not to eat so many donuts at breakfast next time, yeah?” Louis says brightly. Harry catches a glimpse of those tired, blank eyes again, but before he can get too sad he reminds himself to read their story over and over to himself until Louis can read it  _to_  him.

_I’m sorry. I understand. We’ll get through this._


End file.
